Chapter Text
***
"I've seen the story
I've read it over once or twice
I said that you say
A little bit of bad advice
I been in trouble
Happened to me all my life
I lie and you lie
And who would get the sharpest knife
You know I shouldn't be somebody like that
I'm not the kind of man to throw his hat into the ring and
Go down without following through
The day turns into night
Go down without following through
The day turns into night
Ohh Ohh Ohh
This is just where I came in
Hope rides on
But I'll go anywhere
Yes, I'll go anywhere with you
Time has gone
But I'll go anywhere
Yes, I'll go anywhere with you
This is the danger zone
This is where I came in
They know not what they do
Forgive them of their sins
They know they cannot take away
What you have given me
Ohh Ohh Ohh
This is just where I came in"
© Bee Gees - "This Is Where I Came In" (2001)
***
The general atmosphere in the entrance hall of the Royal Mint of Spain felt quite tense.
The red-clad robbers stood in front of the metal gate with their weapons, their faces distorted by the Dalí masks they wore and counted down the seconds until the police arrived. Behind them, their hostages trembled in fear and trepidation, the result of being blindfolded and therefore not knowing what was happening, but knowing for sure that they were still held at gunpoint.
The police sirens became louder and louder, the tension had now almost become a corporeal thing in their midst.
For someone not used to this feeling of adrenaline and anticipation rushing through one's body during a robbery, the police sirens might feel like doom - hostages excluded of course, who most likely hoped for the police to help them - but Martín was familiar with it, even if he wasn't about to storm outside in front of a pack of police cars for some of Sergio's beloved theatrics.
The wailing of the police siren grew louder and louder, announcing the arrival of the foe and the official beginning of the critical phase of the Mint heist. The hostages grew restless under their blindfolds and started fidgeting. A fearful murmur arose, just to be shut down again by the crude words of one of the Dalís.
With a quiet rumble the metal doors opened and some of the Dalís stormed out, masked and armed with guns, overconfidence and two bags of money as a decoy.
For a couple of seconds, Martín heard gunshots and screaming accompanied by the howling of the police sirens. Around him, the other hostages started panicking and screaming, adding to the general uproar. Suddenly, the gunshots and screaming outside stopped.
Only to start anew a couple of seconds later with even more intensity and fervour. "Río! RÍO, NO!" A female screamed. She was probably one of the Dalís, who, by the pitch of her voice, was clearly panicking. By the sounds of it, several other persons stormed outside to help their comrade and by that, their mission too.
More gunshots could be heard, apparently a whole shower of bullets and insults thrown in the direction of the police, clearly indicating that it wasn't going as smoothly as imagined.
"¡HIJO DE PUTA! You asshole! Assholes!," the woman from outside - the others apparently called her Tokyo - screeched outside and judging by the amount of gunshots emptied her clip into a police car, right before the sudden silence indicated that the doors had been closed once again. The silence, only interrupted by the sobbing of the female robber and the rageful screams of a male colleague of hers, ironically, made Martín, still hidden in one of the last rows and yet to be discovered by Andrés, feel like it was like the harbinger of doom.
Díos mio, Martín thought in a state between amusement and fear, if they're all like this they're going to kill us all.
***
The Professor's plan had worked smoothly so far, the whole gang got into the bank, they seized control of it, rounded up the hostages and started to prepare for the next few days in the Mint. All had gone well up to this point. Andrés, or Berlín as he called himself now, was under no illusions that it would get dirty and ugly sooner or later and that the smooth sailing was temporary at best.
That it wouldn't even last an hour until everything went to shit however, that was something he didn't expect.
Río got hit by a bullet fired by the police officers. Tokyo lost it and probably would have murdered them in retaliation if Nairobi had not acted with great presence of mind and pulled her back in.
Back inside, she threw her weapon away and herself on Río, sobbing his alias name and checked for injuries, which were luckily not a great deal. The boy took a grazing shot to the head but was fine otherwise.
"FUCK!" Denver screamed angrily as soon as the metal doors were closed yet again. "That was the worst fucking start! Fuck! Who cares about the FIRST RULE, right? Who cares?"
This was where Sergio's plan started to get its first cracks, especially through the 'no personal relationships'-rule. No one present in the room could deny that Tokyo was way too upset about Río possibly getting injured or worse if he was just a nameless colleague for her and nothing more. Also, Denver screaming at her for breaking the first rule was also clear as day.
Berlín scoffed. Not that he ever expected that rule to stick, he himself was the best example of why it didn't work. The most intense sex he had ever had, had been with Tatiana during one of their many successful robberies. Emotions just ran high and people acted rashly, knowing every day could be the last. Hormones just ran wild and made people act more emotionally than usual. Not that Sergio ever understood those things about human beings.
All of which didn't mean that Berlin wasn't pissed as hell at Tokyo for breaking several rules of the plan all at once.
"Denver, Nairobi," Berlín gave the order to his two teammates "bring Tokyo and Río upstairs, look at his wounds and let them calm down."
Nairobi nodded, grabbed Río by the wrist and led him upstairs, away from prying eyes.
When he turned back to the huddled hostages, he could hear quiet laughter. The sound was unfitting in this situation, it was so out of place, it felt almost jarring.
Berlín shared a side glance with Oslo and Helsinki, who looked as nonplussed as him and gripped their guns a bit tighter in case something weird was about to reveal themselves to them, like an undercover cop.
The reality, at least for Berlín, was so, so much worse.
The ability to appear calm and collected even in the most dangerous situations was a feat that Berlín prided himself in. His poker face had been a most important aspect of his rise in the arts of liberating objects of the people undeserving of them, of removing obstacles and lying into the gullible faces of the powers that be.
It made him into who he was: A cunning, powerful thief currently leading the mission of the greatest heist in history in the Fábrica Nacional de Moneda y Timbre.
"What's so funny?" Berlín asked in a voice that usually gave the impression of a looming predator, ready to jump its prey and tear it to pieces, as he made his way through the group of hostages right to the source of the laughter.
He had to admit, this time it was so, so hard to keep his façade up when he found it right at the back in a man, a little smaller than Berlín, wearing a sleep mask-blindfold like all the other hostages, a Bee Gees T-Shirt, a washed-out flannel, jeans and sneakers.
"The heist is not going so well, is it?" the man said, still snickering, in a voice Berlín had not heard in a long while, pulled the blindfold up and had the gall to throw a cheeky grin in Berlín's direction.
Fuck.
If there was one thing the professor had not prepared them for, it was the unexpected re-emergence of old acquaintances or former personal friends in the Mint.
Whatever Martín was doing here, however he got wind of the date of the heist and got himself into the Mint, Berlín and him parted ways in not exactly amicable ways, even though it had not been Berlín's intention to hurt Martín. However, he realised as he looked down into this face he knew so well, his good intentions might have gotten lost in translation.
Martín was a problem. He was in a position to jeopardise their plans. There was no way around it, but he was a severe threat for their entire operation.
Which meant he could not stay here.
Berlín needed to talk to Sergio, ASAP.
"No one asked for your opinion," Berlín replied coldly, calmly, showing no recognition or reaction in his face. Luckily, he had his poker face back under control. He could not afford to lose any authority in front of the hostages in this critical phase of the plan, blindfolded or not, it was of utmost importance that the hostages remained docile and afraid.
Without another word to his old friend he grabbed him by the collar of his ugly flannel, pressed the gun into his head and dragged him out of the group of hostages and in the direction of the stairs.
"I am going to put this one away," he said to Helsinki "Let's see if he still thinks this is funny when we're through."
Martín didn't say anything else on the way upstairs, but his gloating made Berlín want to punch his smug face in. He, of course, did nothing of that sort, as it would have proven to the observant spectator that he was irritated, or rather, really pissed off. Martín would know, for sure.
Berlín preferred it if he thought he was a cold-hearted asshole for now. The whole plan might depend on it.
Berlín opened the door to the newly-christened phone room that also served as their command centre that was currently occupied by Nairobi, Río, Tokyo and Denver. The four of them were still sniping at each other about Tokyo and Río bumping uglies and the shooting.
"Quiet," Berlín said in his sternest voice. He remained standing at the door, keeping Martín out of sight for the moment. "They're taking the injured cops away. Río, have you connected the phones yet? We need to cut off all wireless and radio signals, so get rid of your ear pieces. We have to switch to analog now. Oh, and you need to connect the cameras for the Professor, too."
Nairobi instantly jumped up, collected all ear pieces and threw them into the aquarium in the back of the room.
Berlín nodded approvingly, before he pointed behind himself "And now out. I have to call the Professor and I don't want to have you squabbling clowns in here while I do that."
A lesser man might have crumbled under Tokyo's death glare at that insult, but not Berlín. He just grinned at her and felt some of his good spirits return.
The four of them made their way out of the room just before Berlín pushed Martín inside. Río and Nairobi had a mission, so they didn't ask and Tokyo stormed off without a backwards glance, but Denver remained for a moment and eyed Martín curiously.
"Why did you bring a hostage here, Berlín?" he asked.
"He thought he could laugh at us," Berlín said, answering as vaguely as possible. He was sure that if any of the gang knew who Martín really was it would not bode well for his own authority and their plan either, just like the hostages. "I think he needs to learn some manners before we let him back to the others."
That answer seemed to suffice for Denver. Thank God for him not being the sharpest tool in the shed.
"No sympathies there, what an idiot," Denver murmured more to himself than to anyone else as he turned around and left.
Berlín sat down at the table, grabbed the receiver of their red telephone and dialled the Professor's number. Sergio must surely be waiting for their first field report by now.
Unsurprisingly, his little brother answered the phone after the second ring.
"And?" Sergio asked. He sounded breathless, tense, but determined and completely engulfed in his Professor persona.
"Two policemen were injured in the shooting," Berlín reported. "They'll live though."
"Who shot them?"
"Tokyo. Río got hit by a grazing shot and she snapped. Apparently they are sleeping with each other." Berlín tried to put as much disdain in his voice as possible as if the mere thought of them having sex was appalling, never mind that he himself had thought about screwing the female half of the aforementioned couple himself.
"Can I speak to her?" If Berlín didn't know his little brother so well, he might have missed it, but for him, the next words and the hardness they were spoken in were a clear indicator of how angry the Professor actually was.
"No, I sent her out to cool off. Besides, that's not all I need to talk to you about," at that, he sent a threatening glance in Martin's direction to stay where he was. Martín however appeared unperturbed, his gaze fixed to the fish tank behind Berlín and on the fish in there who swam around the drowned remains of their ear pieces.
"We have a special hostage. Another one," Berlín said. Martín raised his head at that, as it marked the first time since their reunion where Berlín acknowledged that they actually knew each other.
"What? Who?"
Berlín could have told him, but something in him baulked at the prospect to speak Martin's name out loud. He had not talked of him or even spoken his name out loud since they parted ways now, almost two years ago and even Berlín didn't want to find out if there was some sentimentality for old times somewhere hidden in him when he went down that route. Not now, not ever, that was probably for the best.
This whole situation would be easier to compartmentalise if Martín was just a hostage out of many. So he would be treated as such as soon as it was sure he'd behave. No special treatment, no acknowledgement whatsoever, just another face in the crowd.
But now Berlín needed to make sure he didn't pose any threat. Otherwise they had to resort to more drastic measures he really did not want to think about yet.
All for the plan.
Everything for the plan.
Wordless and without tolerating any potential argument, Berlín reached out the arm holding the receiver for Martín to take over.
Martín took it. Their hands didn't touch.
***
"¡Hola, hermanito! ," Martín said without preamble as soon as he pressed the receiver to his ear. He knew Sergio would understand it and immediately know about the possible consequences of him being in the Mint. Martín felt very little sympathy though. Sergio was the reason Martín had stuffed the torn remains of his plans for his very own magnum opus in a drawer, he was the reason Andrés had decided to cut ties with him and print some paper money with a bunch of idiots in tow here in the Mint rather than to melt gold with him in the Bank of Spain. Stealing some of his peace of mind in return, if just for a couple of minutes, felt perfectly justified in Martin's head.
"Martín?"
"Yeah, it's me. Surprise!? Turns out you can't get rid of me after all."
To Martin's disappointment Sergio didn't respond to the unveiled provocation and stayed frustratingly calm.
"How did you know when to get into the Mint?," he asked instead.
"Fun fact: I didn't," Martín responded. "It was relatively easy to find out you started organising the heist through some contacts you bought your equipment from because they still associated me with you and Andrés, but I didn't know where you were and when you'd strike. So I rented an apartment in the area and I was about to scope the place out when your guys stormed in and this one chick shot two police officers down in the process. What's her name, Tokyo? She seems really… unpredictable, uncontrollable, don't you think?"
By the end, he was not able to hide the venom in his voice and the fury about how Sergio had destroyed his friendship with Andrés and his dream heist, basically everything he lived for, for this soulless train wreck of a heist.
"And what do you want?"
The way Sergio still ignored his open hostility and asked calm questions as if Martín was a petulant child in his defiant phase infuriated Martín even more.
"Of course you'd ask that. I'll tell you something: Even though you plan everything out, Sergio , things don't always turn out as you expect it. I am the reminder of that, nothing more. I am sitting ducks in here now anyway."
This time it was either Martin's imagination, or Sergio, or The Professor, as he called himself now, sounded a little bit more strained than before. Still, he was a pro and he immediately knew which card to play to keep Martín from getting one up on him.
"If I wanted, I could sell you out to the police, since I know who you are, where you live, and what you have done in the past. And I'll do it in a heartbeat should it become clear that you're jeopardising our goals. You, however, can do the same thing to me now. We both know a lot of incriminating material about each other and if we both want to get out of this, we need to keep it to ourselves."
"So you're proposing mutually assured destruction," Martín said, grinning internally. He was only here today by luck, really, and although it was a powerful one, he only had this one card to play, but Sergio took it.
"Exactly. But since you were such an ass about it, there are rules you will have to stick to, or I'll find a way to sell you out anyway. You don't mention who you are, that you know me or Andrés, you keep your opinions to yourself and additionally an eye on the hostages. If they are in unrest, you report back to Andrés, or Berlín as you're going to call him."
"Oh my, Sergio, does that mean I am part of the gang now?"
"No. And you call me The Professor. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Good."
With a loud crash, the telephone landed back on its base.
That went surprisingly well.
Andrés looked as stony and collected as before Martin's not-so-amicable chat with the Professor. He also didn't directly comment on any of what he just witnessed, instead he just pulled his gun on Martín, pressed it into his side and nodded to the door "Back to the hostages now. And behave. If Tokyo wants to shoot you because you can't shut up I won't stop her."
Martín rolled his eyes but complied, pulled his blindfold back over his eyes and let himself walk back down into the entrance hall by Berlín without protesting the nozzle of the gun poking into his side.
He sat back down on the floor and tried to look as innocent and unthreatening as possible to the remaining Dalís in the room, the two bearded guys with the machine guns who had seen how Berlín had dragged him out of the room earlier.
Now he had to wait for something interesting to happen.
The thing Martín neglected to think about before was how mind-numbingly boring it was to be a hostage. Were he on the other side, his mind would be spinning with hundreds of calculations a minute right now and he'd revel in the high of adrenaline that doing something with high stakes such as this brought him. As a hostage however, he was not allowed to do anything. He still wore the stupid sleep mask over his eyes, sat on the floor between snivelling, trembling employees and frankly very annoying high school students. Talking was technically not allowed, but somehow, the occasional whispering could be heard around him. If it got too loud, the two giants rattled threateningly with their guns and it quietened down for a while before the whispering started anew. As far as Martín heard there was nothing of interest to him in their talking, but the tense atmosphere and the sobbing and whispering gave him a headache.
Martín became increasingly agitated as the minutes ticked by and the pounding in his head was not helping.
It felt like a couple of hours later when Martín heard several people's steps approaching, coming down the stairs.
"Stand up," he heard Berlín's voice "and take those masks off."
The hostages obeyed, the sound of shuffling filled the room and the occasional groan about hurting backs. Martín was glad when he was finally able to tear the blindfold away from his eyes and see his surroundings again. Relying on his hearing only was annoying in a situation like this and it did its job: It disoriented and instilled a primal sense of fear in every one of the hostages by taking away their probably most trusted sense and throwing them into darkness, just as the robbers intended. If even I feel relieved, imagine what those other people are feeling right now, he thought.
Martín took the opportunity to look at the people surrounding him. Four Dalís were with them: Berlín, the two giants from before and the younger man who called himself Denver, who had called Martín an idiot.
Many of those annoying students in their fancy school uniforms were in his direct vicinity, also an older woman with grey hair, most likely a bank employee, a younger woman with curly, blonde hair and a squirrelly short man in a suit, whose looks reminded Martín of a human version of a pug. This guy kept staring at the blonde next to Martín, who fidgeted and looked uncomfortable at the constant attention, but looked at him the same way when he was looking somewhere else for a second.
Interesting. There probably was a story behind this.
Berlín spoke up again, slowly strolling through the rows of people. "Something unexpected has come up, but despite the helicopters outside we got a few hours in which you will be able to rest. We're handing out some sleeping bags now, water and sandwiches."
The old lady on Martin's right let out a small gasp. Probably it just now sank in completely that this was not a one-off-robbery, but a full-on heist-with-hostages situation and that she would not be home tomorrow and play with her nieces and nephews. Whoever brought sleeping bags to a bank robbery never planned on leaving soon.
Martín was just relieved at the prospect of getting something to eat and drink. Thank you, I am getting cottonmouth here and I am thirsty as fuck, he thought. Sergio really needs to improve on the catering.
"Oh, and do me a favour please: Take your clothes off. We're giving you the same red overalls we're wearing, so you will be more comfortable" Berlín said calmly, ignoring the shocked gasps of the hostages.
Denver and the bald bearded guy immediately jumped into action, opened two boxes, walked through the rows of hostages and handed out little packages with the red outfit inside.
Berlín continued his stroll through the hostage group, watching them shrink into themselves and avoid his gaze when he walked by. The only exception was, of course, Martín.
"I am sorry, I don't want to be a bother, sir, but some of us here have heart conditions-," the pug man across from Martín spoke up, clearly nervous. He stopped, took a breath and then continued "ladies who are pregnant, diabetics, teens. I beg of you, let the most vulnerable ones go." When he mentioned the pregnancies, he glanced over to the blonde and suddenly Martín got what was up with those two. Interestingly enough, he wore a wedding ring and she didn't. An unexpected child surprise, then.
"I doubt they can stand the stress you're exposing them to tonight. Let them go, please."
Before Berlín could answer, Denver pushed through to them. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Gandhi?"
"Denver, relax. This is my friend, we both love movies," Berlín said, turned and walked away. Denver looked as if he did in fact calm down, but shocked the present hostages in the next moment when he pulled a gun from somewhere and put it in the man's face, who raised his hands in panic.
A second later, Denver motioned him to take the gun. "Take it. It's an order," he said, insisting when the man shook his head. "Take the gun. Take it. Great, point it at me."
Another shake of the head, so Denver gripped the man's hands and made him point the gun at Denver's chest. "Now shoot me."
The man's eyes were filled with tears and he trembled with fear, just as most of the hostages who observed the spectacle in various stages of horror whereas Martín was fascinated.
He probably would get along splendidly with Denver if he weren't a hostage himself.
The man only obeyed Denver's order under the threat of getting shot himself and pulled the trigger two, three, four times, only to learn that Denver had played him for laughs and given him a fake weapon.
Denver laughed, his laugh coming out like a staccato- ahahahaha - pushed his forehead to the of the other man's, who still looked shaken to his core. "The weapon was fake, Arturito, but you did well. You can keep it."
Berlín returned with another box and started explaining the fake weapons the other hostages would be given as well, so that they looked just as the robbers did. The red suits, masks and weapons made them into a shield for the gang, so to say, so that the police won't know who is who.
Really clever, Sergio, Martín thought and frustrated, grinded his teeth.
"In a couple of hours we need your help," Berlín said. "You see, if you just obey our orders, nothing bad will happen to you. Trust us and obey. And now put on the overalls. Go on."
Some of the hostages cried, but all of them followed the order.
Arturito needed half an hour and he was back to his squirrely self. Martín wasn't sure if he disliked the crying, snivelling coward or the livelier version more. Both were giving him even more of a headache.
"Mónica, I need to talk to you!" Arturo whispered to the blonde next to Martín, whose name he had learned during their short dinner.
"Mónica! I swear to you, I-," he continued until Mónica cut him off with a hiss. "Shut up, or they'll kill us!"
Martín noticed one member of the gang, the young woman the others called Nairobi, following the sound to its source with her gaze and coming over to them.
Wordless, she sat down next to Mónica and Martín, although she didn't pay much attention to him and more to her bootstrap that had untangled themselves.
She re-tied the knot and watched Mónica with a curious twinkle in her eyes.
"You don't like your boss very much, do you?" she asked Mónica quietly.
"How do you know he is my boss?" Mónica replied, visibly wary of the other woman and the gun she carried around and that was always within reach, even now.
Nairobi didn't care about the gun however, her whole attention was focused on Mónica. Martín noticed how Arturo across from them tried to listen in, but judging by the unhappy face he made he didn't hear a thing or not enough.
"Because we prepared for this. I studied you, so now, I know all about you. I even saw the pregnancy test on your desk. Now I think I know who the father is… it's him, am I right? And he doesn't want it?"
Mónica shook her head.
"So he doesn't want to deal with it?"
A short pause.
"It's not easy to let go of a baby," Nairobi said, a sombre tone in her voice "so, what are you going to do?"
It appeared as if the little talk actually helped Mónica to clear her head of some chaos, because she nodded at Nairobi as if she made a decision just now.
"I'll abort it," she said. Nairobi gave no answer to that, just nodded, then stood back up and continued her rounds. Martín had a lot of opinions about women but he would never openly admit that he did not understand them very well. Still, even he realised the two women had come to a mutual understanding, based on possible shared experiences he himself had no clue of. As to not be caught eavesdropping, he continued to pretend to be very interested in the floor.
They got their sleeping bags - they were of course coloured red, he was starting to sense a theme here - a couple of minutes later. Martín was actually grateful when the big, not very talkative guy the others called Helsinki handed him the package, even if the first thing he did was drop it to the floor like an idiot.
"Oh, sorry," Helsinki said in an eastern-european accent that was almost as thick as Martin's argentinian one, picked it up again and gave it back to Martín with a smile on his face.
Huh. Weird.
Quickly, he unpacked the sleeping bag and spread it out on the floor next to Mónica's, who shot him a grateful look, since she didn't want Arturo to sleep next to her for obvious reasons. Arturo sent him a dirty look, as if he thought Martín let himself be intimidated by the likes of him. As if.
Although Martín was dead on his feet, sleep did not come to him and it wasn't just the headache or the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. Now that his surroundings calmed down his own thoughts started filling the void.
Unfortunately, his own head was one of his most arduous adversaries and the events of the day had not gone by without a trace.
Seeing Andrés again made him feel really vibrantly alive for the first time in almost two years. But now he realised that for Andrés, basically nothing had changed between them after Martin's unexpected re-emergence in his life. He still did not want to do anything with him anymore.
After his lowest day since the night Andrés threw him out of his life, Martín clung to the hope that if they just saw each other again it would go back to the way it was. This hope had only gotten bigger with every sip of whiskey he drank and became a new obsession. He spent a lot of time in his drunkenness imagining their reunion. Not the healthiest choice, but it got him through the days and then, it brought him here.
All of it so he realised he once again had fooled himself into thinking that Andrés de Fonollosa wanted him in his life.
Seriously, what was he thinking?
Unnerved, he unzipped the sleeping bag and wiggled out of it. It was way too warm in there, he could feel the sweat on his body, making his t-shirt under the overall stick to his body uncomfortably.
He threw a glance over to the robbers watching over them, who didn't spare him a second glance as soon as it was obvious he was not going to do anything else other than wiggle around with his sleeping bag. There were four of them: Nairobi, Oslo, Tokyo and Berlín. Only the first three patrolled around though, Berlín sat at a table across the room next to a red telephone with which the Professor would call them as soon as the police sprung into action and kept watch over the hostages from there. The lackadaisical expression on his face and a constant tapping of his fingers on the tabletop told the attentive observer that he was bored more than agitated and probably longed for something interesting to happen.
Their eyes met for a moment, yet Berlín showed no reaction. If it had to do with this Berlín persona he embodied during this heist or if he had truly changed and they were mere strangers now, brought back by chance and hope fuelled by obsessive nostalgia, Martín wasn't sure. But he had to know, that's why he was here in the first place.
One could only hope Martín liked the answer he would get.
Real, restful sleep evaded him still. Martín dozed off for a couple of minutes but woke up with a start and felt even worse afterwards. The cottonmouth was back and he felt generally shitty.
Almost desperately he emptied the rest of his water bottle but found no improvement.
With a small wave Martín called Nairobi's attention: "I'm sorry, but do you have a new bottle of water for me? I'm still thirsty and I feel like something crawled into my mouth and died." "Maybe it did, have you checked?" Nairobi said with a smirk, but brought him a new bottle nonetheless.
Martín quietly thanked her, uncapped the bottle and downed most of the clear, tasteless liquid in one go. Well. That actually hadn't helped at all.
What I would give for a real drink right now, his head prompted just then and it was at this moment Martín knew he fucked up.
***